


Constants and Variables

by orphan_account



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Bioshock AU, Gen, bioshock infinite au, sort of a Burial At Sea au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:30:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things change... But some never do. [au featuring a new setting that is kind of like an alternate version of Rapture]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, this is meant to be confusing in the beginning. It will all become clear in future chapters.

I fight against the nurses and med technicians, tugging at the restraints on my wrists and ankles, screaming until my throat is painfully raw, even trying to bit any hands that get close enough to my face. One of the nurses grips a hypodermic needle in one gloved hand, the thin sliver of metal glinting malevolently in the dimly lit operating room. The techs try to hold me down, muttering reassuring words that somehow manage to sound ominous. I don't know why I'm fighting so hard. This is my destiny, after all.

One of the techs grabs my head while another grips my shoulders. The nurse practically stabs the needle into my neck and presses down on the syringe with her thumb. The paralytic agent enters my bloodstream and takes only a matter of seconds to go into effect. My muscles are rendered useless, my body reduced to a stiff mannequin to be manipulated however these medical types see fit. I can even scream anymore, though the panic is still there, tightening my chest and threatening to another me. I am hyperventilating, and I know I'll pass out soon...

The nurse is much more gentle than before as she carefully swabs the fleshy inside of my forearm with rubbing alcohol, preparing to insert the IV. The only part of my body that doesn't seem to be frozen is my tear ducts, which are working overtime, fat drops of saltwater rolling down my face and splattering the sterile white mattress. The nurse hooks me up to the silent machine at my bedside, flicking a switch. I watch as a pale purple liquid drips into the thin tube; I can't tell if it really is glowing faintly, or if it's just a trick of the light. I vaguely wonder the extent of the risks of the toxic chemical soup currently pumping into my veins. A small part of me hopes that it will kill me before they can get their sterile-gloved hands on me.

My head starts to spin, vision fading in and out. I briefly ponder wether the intoxicating effect is intentional, to keep me compliant, or simply a side effect of the compound now coursing through my bloodstream. However, my brain quickly becomes too muddled for such thoughts. I feel the nurse carefully lift up my thin white dress (if a papery garment that barely covers my rear end can really be called such), exposing my abdomen to the cold hands of the medical technicians. And then... nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

I am floating. I feel all warm and soft, like I'm melting over the plush cushions beneath me. The world is so full of color here: green vines trailing up the crème walls, scarlet rose petals scattered over nearly every available surface, my own veins glowing faintly purple under my skin. I have never seen so many colors in one place before. It is so bright and lovely that I am almost moved to tears.

I stand up, the flower petals ticking my feet. I am wearing a white dress that is obviously very expensive, the silky fabric brushing my ankles. The air smells like vanilla, and everything has a sort of friendly glow to it. I am eager to explore.

I open the door, freezing when I hear soft, faraway voices echoing down the hall. 

"She's asleep. I can't believe she's sleeping; we haven't even administered any painkillers yet!"

"Of course she's sleeping. It's the hallucinogenic properties in the compound, idiot. Puts the subject into a kind of fever dream. She's probably taking a mental vacation to some imaginary wonderland right now. The little angel won't feel a thing."

I decide to ignore the troublesome voices, as they seem very far away and of very little consequence. I walk through the warm, brightly lit halls, stepping on rose petals and running my hands over the smooth walls. I prefer this place to the dimly lit prison I have known my whole life. I wonder if the rest of the world looks like this. I would not know -- I have never left my little cage before.

There do not seem to be any people in this strange new world. Some people might be lonely, but I am perfectly content by myself -- I have been alone my whole life, so why should now be any different? As I roam the ornate halls, I chew thoughtfully on the inside of my lip. There is something almost familiar about this place. Though I've never seen the elaborate decorations and bright colors, the winding hallways and elegant rooms have a sort of charming aura that I almost recognize; when I look closely, I am aware of an underlying atmosphere that's strangely ominous and as familiar as the back of my hand.

I have just scooped up a handful of rose petals, allowing them to slip through the cracks between my fingers, when I am suddenly overcome by a fiery pain in my belly. I scream, doubling and clutching my lower abdomen. When I look down, the skin has been torn open, and scarlet petals are pouring from the wound, gathering in my hands and falling to the floor. I stare at the petals and think I might be sick, stomach churning as my heart begins to pound. I press my hands against the wound, trying desperately to keep the flowers inside my body, where they belong.

"Oh dear," Unlike the voices I heard earlier, this one seems to be right next to me. My head whips up, searching for the source.

The woman standing before me looks well-groomed and proper. Her red hair is swept back in a neat-yet-elegant bun, not a hair out of place. She is wearing clothes that look slightly out of place in our current surroundings: tan jacket, black vest, dark brown skirt, white shirt buttoned up to the throat, and a green tie. Her blue eyes scan me with a cold, distant kind of curiosity. "It seems they started operating..."

"... sooner than we had anticipated." The man who appears out of nowhere and finishes her sentence must be her brother -- they look nearly identical, except for the obvious fact that he is taller, with shorter hair and more masculine features. Even his outfit mirrors hers, but with the skirt switched for slacks. He seemed a bit more concerned for my welfare than his sister. "Nevertheless, we still have time."

My throat feels dry as I face the twins who, like everything else around me, seem oddly familiar. "Wh-who are you? What do you have time for?"

Before either of them can speak, the other voices return, echoing through the hall. They sound slightly closer this time.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, the subject must be talking in her sleep. There's no way she could be comprehensive with that amount of the compound in her system."

The woman in front of me shakes her head, as if someone has just spilled tea on her skirt. "Oh dear. It seems..."

"... that she's waking up." The man steps forward, looking directly at me. "Remember, they don't completely understand you..."

"... which means they will easily underestimate you." The woman seems almost amused by the situation. "I would advise you to use it to your advantage."

With that, the twins disappear; the dream world around me quickly follows suit, crumbling and disintegrating until there is nothing left but darkness and cold and the distant voices getting closer... and closer... and closer...

My eyes snap open and I scream. I am still strapped down to the operating table, but at this point my head is clouded with chemicals -- everything is blurred and disorienting. I can make out the figures of two of the technicians bent over me, their hands moving back and forth from my abdomen. My stomach turns when I realize that their hands are painted red with my blood. I continue to scream, yanking my arms and legs so forcefully that the restraints dig into my skin.

"Shhh, hush now." My insides froze at the familiar voice. I stared up into a pair of familiar, unfeeling grey eyes like cold steel. Black hair slicked back into a meticulously tight bun, soothing smile contrasted by the malevolent gleam in her eyes. It was the face of my jailer. The Professor.


	3. Chapter 3

I was raised by a series of nurses who were kept oblivious to the nature of my greater purpose. They were told that I had a rare medical condition and a fragile disposition, meaning that I couldn't go outside without risking my health. They were all fired and replaced every few months to keep them from learning too much. I don't really remember any of them. It's just a blur of faces.

And then came Professor Romulus. My 'foster mother,' my captor, my tormentor... The head of The Project, who was responsible for my upbringing. Other children have the monster under the bed. I didn't need an imaginary monster -- I had the Professor.

Although I knew she wasn't my birth mother (she never hesitated to remind me), she was closest thing I had as a child. Which is a shame, because although the Professor Romulus is many things, "good with children" is not one of them. Genius, cold, driven -- but not motherly. She was never loving towards me; in fact, she barely tolerated me. Our relationship was that of a scientist and her subject, nothing more.

Now, as I lay on the operating table, the Professor stroked my hair, drawing my gaze away from the technicians reaching into the hole in my body. She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "It's alright, Isabelle. This is all part of the plan."

Romulus carelessly removes the dark brown hair that has fallen into my eyes. "Go back to sleep, child."

She lifts her head, addressing the medical technicians standing nearby. "Up her dosage. We need to get her back under."

"But Professor, that could be extremely dangerous. The subject could overd--"

"She can take it." Romulus snaps, lightning flashing in her stormy eyes. "Just do it. Now!"

One of the technicians turns a knob on the machine next to my bed, speeding up the flow of the liquid in my IV. My vision starts to fade in and out, and soon I am back under.


End file.
